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1  2  3 


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MKROCOrV   MSOUinON  TBT  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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Z       1853  E<nt  Main  StrMt 

~       RoehMtar,  Naw  York       t4fl09      USA 

(716)  482  -  0300  -  Phoo. 

(716)  288  -  M89  -  Fox 


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[RISH  MIST 
D  SUNSHINE 


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A   BOOK  OF  BALLADS 


JAMES  B.  DOLLARD 

(SLIAy-NA*-MON) 


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Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


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Irish  Mist  3  Sunshine 

A  SOOK  OF  "BALLADS 

By 

JAMES  "S.  VOLLABD 

{Sisiv-turmon) 

With  «n  Mrodadton  by 
WaUjun  (XBrien,  M.  P. 


me    I 


ihcorportiied) 

Toronto:  W.  E.  *BUke 

t90t 


Copyright  1900  by 

l&chard  G.  Badger  &  Company 
(Ltcorporaied) 


c4lL  lights  liesei^ed 


'■   .    MAR  2  3  1970 


s 


Dedication 


To  my  Brother 

The  ^ev.   WILLIAM  "DOLLARD 

Church  of  the  Holy  Rosary 

St.  Stephen,  N.  B. 

a.  lover  of  heUnd  and  her  IHeraiure,  <i)hose 
teachings  and  encotsragement  have  at^-^ys 
been  my  greatest  aid,  this  book  of  Irish  .  e 
is  affectionately  dedicated, 

TTie  Author 


mam 


mm 


mm 


Irish  Mist  Mid  Sunshine 


CONTENTS. 

Preface  by  William  O'Erien,  M.  P.,  9 

Rhyme  of  the  Still  Htmten,  16 

Ballad  of  the  Cotota  Gann  Kown,  27 

The  Cruise  of  the  Blue  Maureen,  81 

The  Bridge  of  Ormonde,  39 

When  the  Shadow's  on  the  Heather,  41 

The  Hanging  of  Mylea  Lehane,  44 

The  Fairy  Stolen,  64 

On  Kenmare  Head,  67 

Cnoc-Maol-Dhoun,  60 

Lament  for  GUI  Ceannaigh,  63 

Ballad  of  the  Banshee,  66 

The  Red  Walls  of  Limerick,  69 

Lav-Laidhir  Abu,  72 

The  March  of  the  North  Cork,  76 

The  Pikemcn,  79 

Song  of  the  little  Villages,  83 

The  Sweei  Biver  Suir,  87 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


PREFACE. 

The  Irish  priest  who  is  also  a  poet  commands 
a  range  of  emotions  which  are  inaccessible  and 
almost  inconceivable  to  the  decadent  versi- 
fiers who  have  made  the  phrase  "The  Minor 
Poete"  a  term  of  contempt.    There  is,  as  in 
the  great  days  of  poetry,  something  of  the  di 
vine  in  his  calling.   He  is  privileged,  as  is  no 
other  man,  to  enter  the  Holy  of  Holies  of  the 
Irish  soul,  which  contains  a  virgin  mine  of 
passion,  pathos,  mirth  and  tragedy  still  await- 
ing the  poet's  alchemic  touch.    The  surpris- 
ing thing  is  that  so  few  Irish  priests  have  yet 
turned  to  account  for  the  enrichment  of  liter- 
ature the  wealtii  of  human  interest  and  f*-?!- 
ing  which  lies  around  the  poet-priest  in  the 
wildest  mountain  parish.      The  brooks  that 
babble  around  his  daily  path  make  music,  and 
there  is  no  cabin  whose  blue  peat-smoke  per- 
fumes the  moors  around  his  chapel  that  could 
not  yield  up  its  little  lyric  or  its  tale  of  deep 
and  haunting  pathos.    Two  Irish  priests  are 
at  this  moment  setting  the  example  of  what 
men  who  combin*-  literary  ardour  with  a  pas- 

9 


1 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


i 

i  i 


sionate  love  of  their  people  can  do  to  give  the 
world  some  glimpse  of  the  charms  of  the  true 
Irish  temperament,  horizon,  and  spirit-world. 
Father  P.  A.  Sheehan's  famous  book,  ''My 
New  Curate"  gives  perhaps  the  boldest  as  well 
as  the  truest  picture  ever  painted  of  the  Irish 
priest  and  of  his  people,  in  habit  as  they  live. 
Father  Dollard,  the  author  of  this  book  of  ly- 
rics treats  Irish  life  and  sentiment  through  the 
more  glowing  medium  of  verse,  and  with  the 
intensified  passion  of  an  exile  from  his  native 
land.  The  grass-grown  Irish  villages,  whose 
very  names  set  his  thoughts  to  music,  appear 
to  him  through  an  enchanted  atmosphere  of 
recollections  and  regrets  which  gives  a  touch 
of  consecration  too  often  lost  for  those  to 
whom  the  dull  realities  suggest  no  more  than 
the  yellow  primrose  did  to  Peter  Bell. 

Here  and  there  a  verse  may  be  as  frankly 
unadorned  as  the  peasant  cabins  themselves 
in  their  homely  cloaks  of  thatch,  but  every 
line  rings  true  to  life  and  home  and  with  the 
tone  as  heartmoving  as  the  Angelus  which 
holds  Millet's  peasants  in  its  spell.    Father 


10 


wmP^9Mt*B7 


Irish  Mist  Md  Sunshine 


Dollard  moreover  posseBBes  the  quality  which 
alone  Ib  wanting  among  the  perfectionB  of  the 
"New  Curate"  namely,  a  wholehearted  sym- 
pathy with  the  national  yearning  of  his  peo- 
ple.   The  simple  explanation  to  me  at  least  of 
the  dismal  fate  of  all  the  more  or  less  Angli- 
fled  **New  Curate's"  projects  for  conquering 
the  inveterate  stagnation  of  the  village  life 
around  him  is  hlj  failure  to  appreciate  tne  as- 
pirations   which  are  the  people's  terrestrial 
breath   of  life  and  the  political   conditions 
which  set  young  men  either  tippling  with  Jem 
Deady,  or  learning  the  goose-step  by  moonlight 
under   the   command   of   the   village   tailor. 
Father  Dollard  understands  the  tailor  as  well 
as  the  tippler  and  sees  perfectly  how  a  healthy 
national  enthusiasm  could  regulate  the  ex- 
cesses of  both  and  render  Irish  life  as  full  of 
manly  energy  as  it  is  of  national  charm  and 
poetic  sensibility.    His  lyrics  have  done  very 
much  indeed  to  discourage  the  unnatural  He- 
gira  from  their  native  land  which  has  tempted 
such  myriads  of  the  race  from  their  wholesome 
mountain  glens  into  the  contamination  of  the 


II 


I 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


ir\ 


factories  and  the  city  slams  in  stranger  lands. 
Nobody  can  well  read  his  verses  without  feel- 
ing a  breath  of  healthy  air  pass  through  the 
lungs,  and  a  pleasant  twitching  at  the  heart 
such  as  eflfects  one  who  in  dreams  in  a  distant 
clime,  hears  the  sound  of  the  chapel  bell  of  his 
young  days  floating  on  his  ears.  Irish  priests 
with  the  gifts  of  Father  Sheehan  and  Father 
Dollard  in  their  several  kinds  can  do  more  to 
revive  the  power  of  the  poet  in  its  ancient 
Greek  sense  than  the  most  misty-minded  of  the 
dilettanti  who  arrogate  to  themselves  the  cred- 
it of  what  is  called  the  "Gaelic  Revival." 
They  are  indeed  makers  and  teachers,  and  their 
books  leave  us  with  cheerfuller  belief  in  our 
kind. 

WILLIAM  O'BRIEN. 
Mallow  Cottage, 

Westport,  Ireland, 

September  12,  1900. 


12 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


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Irish  Mist  *nd  SunsfUru 


RHYME  or  THE  BTILL  HUNTERS. 
(A  Ballad  of  lar-ConnaugM.) 

It  was  the  Ganger  Began  Buie 

That  pensive  came  to  baik, 
One  snnny  day  by  Galway  Bay, 

And  sat  on  an  empty  cask. 

A  Ganger  old  and  stem  was  he, 

Grim  foe  to  fresh  poteen, 
Had  sought  the  still  o'er  vale  and  hill; 

Pull  steady  his  scent  I  ween. 

He  lit  his  pipe  and  he  puffed  a  puff, 

He  spat  on  the  salty  tide. 
He  gazed  on  the  blue-black  Gonnaught  Hills 

Then  drooped  his  head  and  sighed: 

"Now,  Began  Buie,  what  sight  dost  see 
On  the  lonesome  Gonnaught  Hills?" 

I  see  on  Kylimore's  swelling  slopes 
The  smoke  of  whiskey  stills. 


15 


IrUh  Mist  and  Sunshine 


I  feel  the  peat  spring  to  my  feet, 

I  scent  the  gorse  dad  waste, 
I  long  again  for  crag  and  glen 
Where  mountain  rivers  raced. 

Pull  dim  my  sight  that  once  was  light. 

My  bones  are  stiflf  and  sore, 
But  the  Connaught  Hills  are  calling  now 

And  It's  off  I'd  be  once  more. 

Oh,  oflP  again  with  the  mountain  men: 

1  knew  them  one  and  all- 
Jack  Joyce  that  kept  round  Knockaniss 

AndTeigatBalnagal; 

And  Maelmorra  Lynch,  of  Dalystown- 
But  the  I  keenest  rogue  drew  breath 

Was  Dhiarmid  Boe,  of  Ballinasloe, 
Sly  fox  and  game  to  death. 

'Twas  many  a  day  we  went  his  way 
Full  sure  to  find  his  lair  ' 

In  the  Boughta  Hills  where  smoked  his  'stills 
Un  the  bounds  of  County  Clare. 

r6 


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Irish  Misi  »nd  Sunshine 


'>  I 


And  manj  a  night,  a  woeful  sight, 

My  men  and  I  slunk  home. 
While  down  from  the  shadowy  mountain  cliffs 

His  mocking  voice  would  come: — 

"Ho,  Regan  Buie  you're  far  to  see  > 

**My  pearly  mountain  dew, 
*T11  send  you  a  pint  with  never  a  stint,  '' 

'Tirst  run  and  tested  true. 

''But  haste  you  now  from  the  mountain  tracks* 

"Go  home  to  Galway  Town 
"And  say  when  there  that  I  beat  you  fair 

*Tor  all  your  name's  renown." 

V7e  wandered  tuere  when  fields  were  fair 

And  the  furze  a  flame  of  gold: 
We  sought  again  for  the  outlaw's  den 

When  winter  winds  blew  cold. 


One  day  at  last  we  followed  fast; 

The  trail  was  straight  and  true; 
Close  was  the  chase  till  a  cliff's  dark  face 

Concealed  him  from  our  view. 


■  '  ft' 

'I  ■ 


, 


I 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 

High  and  low  for  a  hiding  place 
We  searched  and  searched  again, 

Till  we  found  a  rift  in  the  granite  cliff. 
The  door  of  Dhiarmid's  den. 

Oh  chill  that  cave  as  a  churchyard  vault- 
Our  hearts  had  need  be  bold;  ' 

Black  was  its  mouth,  but  the  womb  within 
Was  blacker  a  hundredfold. 

High  and  steep  were  the  stony  walls 

The  roof  was  lost  to  view; 
Mith  shuffle  and  jar  like  thunder  far 

Our  footfalls  echoed  through. 

Spoke  Ja  =k  Ryan,  of  Bansha  town, 

Who  feared  not  man  or  ghost; 
"I  hear  a  tread  on  the  road  ahead;" 

And  he  followed  the  footsteps  fast. 

On  through  the  midnight  mirk  he  went. 

With  never  a  thought  or  care; 
But  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  torrent's  rush 

And  called  to  him,  "Beware!" 

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Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


"  'Ware  a  trap  or  an  open  cleft;" 

My  warning  came  too  late; 
A  stumble,  a  cry  that  chilled  our  hearts, 

And  quick  we  knew  his  fate. 

Thud  and  thud  on  the  rocky  shelves 

We  heard  his  body  go, 
And  plunge  at  last  in  the  raving  flood 

A  thousand  feet  below. 

Then  flashed  a  light,  and  the  cave  was  bright, 
Wet  gleamed  each  dripping  ledge; 

A  mighty  chasm  our  pathway  barred^— 
Full  close  we  viewed  its  edge. 

Heavy  and  deep  in  sullen  sweep 

We  heard  the  flood  below, 
But  over  its  din  a  voice  broke  in 

The  challenge  of  Dhiarmid  Roe: 

"Ho,  Regan  Buie  on  your  bended  knee 

"Pray  God  to  save  your  soul; 
"Your  grave  is  a  thousand  feet  below 

"And  never  a  bell  to  toll. 


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19 


!  ' 


Irish  Mist  and  Sanshim 


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'TTour  grave  is  a  thousand  feet  below— 

'TTour  children  wait  at  Lome, 
"And  jour  wife  shall  cry  as  the  days  go  by 

"For  a  husband  ne'er  to  come. 

'*But  think  on  the  home  in  Galway  town 

"And  think  of  child  and  wife 
"And  make  me  a  solemn  promise  here, 

"Yonr  word  shall  buy  your  life. 

'Tor  never  again  the  mountain  men 
'TTour  stealthy  steps  must  fear. 

*The  crag  and  glen  for  the  mountain  men; 
"The  slope  for  the  mountain  deer? 

**No  more  the  still  you'll  hunt  and  spill, 
"Or  range  the  gorse  lands  high; 

"Your    word    will    hold,    'gainst    glorv    and 
gold;— 
"Who  breaks  our  law  must  die!" 

Then  stout  his  challenge  I  answered  back. 

And  spoke  as  man  to  man: 
**My  word  won't  go  to  Dhiarmid  Roe, 

"So  work  the  worst  you  can. 

20 


1 ' 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


"I'll  hunt  ye  again  by  crag  and  glen 

(God  care  for  rhild  and  wife:) 
"But,  ere  I  give  ye  the  pledging  word 

"I'll  part  with  them  and  life." 

Then  Dhiarmid  Boe  spoke  grave  and  slow; 

'TTour  death-knell's  sounding  now; 
"No  hurrying  ball  your  soul  shall  call, 

"Grim  fear  must  make  you  bow. 

"Your  grave  is  deep  and  your  grave  is  high, 

"Its  walls  are  soundless  rock; 
"And  never  a  soul  shall  hear  you  call, 

"Whilst  I  your  sufE'rings  mock." 

He  spoke  and  the  blessed  light  was  gone. 

We  groped  in  darkest  gloom; 
And  we  heard  but  the  foaming  flood  below. 

Sounding  a  knell  of  doom. 

Blind  on  our  track  we  floundered  back. 

Our  folly  to  bemoan; 
We  felt  our  way  where  the  passage  lay, 

And  struck  but  the  solid  stone. 


21 


% 


''^■»V<>*!'i!^ 


If 


n 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


Searched  we  there  in  our  heart's  despair, 

But  ever  the  same  we  found. 
Naught  but  the  boiling  depths  below 

And  the  iron  rock  around. 

Oh,  deep  our  grave  by  a  hidden  wave, 
And  far  from  friends  and  home 

Where  never  a  soul  as  long  years  roll 
To  breathe  a  prayer  would  come. 

Then  cried  Ned  Power  of  Parsontown, 

My  friend  in  raid  and  fray: 
"We've  held  the  front  in  many  a  brunt 

"But  this  is  the  end  to-day. 

"Oh  this  is  the  end  and  worse  to  fear— 

"My  curse  on  Dhiarmid  Roe! 
"May  all  his  flinty  heart  holds  dear 

"Rise  up  to  work  him  woe."— 

Heavy  and  slow  the  crawling  hours> 

And  each  one  seemed  a  dav. 
In  the  deadly  gloom  of  that  living  tomb 

Our  live  strength  ebbed  away. 


32 


It 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


And  when  sweet  visions  crossed  the  brain 

Of  homes  we'd  see  no  more, 
We  heard  the  drop  of  the  reeking  rock 

And  the  rumbling  torrents  roar. 

At  last  a  light  flashed  full  and  bright; 

'Twas  sweet  as  breaking  day, 
And  full  in  the  glow  stood  Dhiarmid  Roe 

And  mocked  us  where  we  lay: 

"Ho,  Regan  Buie,  are  the  hounds  at  bay, 
"Brought  up  and  trapped  at  last? 

"You've  had  your  fun  of  many  a  run, 
"But  your  hunting  days  are  past. 

<*My  curse  on  ye  for  stubborn  fools! 

"Speak  now  the  word  I  said; 
"The  riftless  rock  is  all  around 

"And  the  rock  roof  overhead. 

"I'll  send  ye  back  to  Galway  Town 
"Where  wif<^  and  children  wait. 

**The  time  g         y  and  the  end  is  nigb — 
"Speak  no      ^r  speak  1  >    late." 

23 


iljl 


\i 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


Up  spoke  Ned  Power  of  Parsontown: 

"Your  pardon,  Began  Buie: 
'*The  word  your  pride  forever  would  hide 

"I'll  speak  for  you  and  me. 

"Oh,  never  again  by  heath  and  glen 
(God  pay  thee,  Dhiarmid  Boe!) 

"Were  a  whiskey  still  on  every  hill, 
"On  the  outlaw's  track  we'll  go. 

"Were  a  whiskey  still  on  every  hill, 
"And  a  scent  to  make  one  reel, 

"Oh!  never  again  on  the  mountain  men 
"Like  blooded  sleuths  we'll  steal. 

"Tho'  many  an  outlaw  roam  unhanged, 

"Of  high  and  low  degree, 
"To  Dhiarmid  Boe  the  palm  must  go, 

"The  Chief  of  rascals  he." 

Then  smiled  that  rascal,  Dhiamid  Boe, 

A  wicked  smile  to  see. 
And  said:  "This  day  is  the  day  indeed, 

"And  worth  p.  world  to  me." 


24 


] 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunskfne 


"The  day  that  I  baffled  Regan  Buie 
"And  brought  his  boasting  low, 

"A  pint  I'll  brew  of  the  mountain  dew 
"To  treat  ye  ere  ye  go." 

He  bound  our  eyes  and  he  led  us  on, 

And  when  we  looked  again, 
We  saw  the  prize  we  had  hunted  long. 

The  daring  outlaw's  den. 

Busy  and  neat,  in  all  complete. 

Vat  and  worm  and  still, 
The  mountaineer  for  many  a  year 

Had  worked  them  all  at  will. 

Then  Dhiarmid  Roe:  "Now  ere  ye  go 
**Ye'll  test  my  mountain  dew." 

And  loud  he  laughed  as  the  potent  draught 
Our  shaking  frames  thrilled  through. 

Oh,  gay  his  laugh  and  merry  his  chaff, 
As  he  showed  the  homeward  way, 

And  "Regan  Buie  in  the  years  to  be 
^Tou'll  never  rue  this  day. 

25 


V 


*>«:^.. 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


\ 


i 


"Oh,  come  again  to  the  mountain  men, 
"A  Government  spy  no  more; 

"Their  friendship  true  Fll  warrant  you 
"And  welcoming  hearts  galore."" 

He  said  and  we  looked  our  last  on  him. 

Then  turned  our  faces  home; 
But  every  year  to  my  cottage  here 

A  stealthy  cask  doth  come. 

And  writ  in  the  ancient  Gaelic  tongue 

This  legend  you  may  see: 
"Sweet  mountain  dew,  from  Dhiarmid  Roe, 

To  the  Ganger,  Began  Buie." 

Oh,  mellow  and  true  that  mountain  dew. 

Old  heart  and  brain  it  thrills. 
I  see  as  I  saw  in  days  of  old, 

the  wind-swept  Connaught  Hills; 

I  feel  the  peat  beneath  my  feet; 

I  smell  the  heathery  waste; 
I  long  again  for  the  crag  and  glen 

where  thundering  torrents  raced. 

36 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


i 


BALLAD  OF  THE  C0I8TA  GANN  KOWN/ 

This  terrible  phantom  is  heard  passing  from 
me  graveyard  to  another,  at  the  midnight  hour, 
hy  the  peasantry  of  the  South  of  Ireland. 

"Black  Niall  Moran,  dare  you  cross  the  lone 

mountain, 
A  brand  on  your  brow  and  a  murder  on  your 

soul, 
Ah!  what  shall  you  say  when  the  Lord  calls 

upon  you, 
For  the  red  blood  you  squandered,  and  the  life 

that  you  stole?" 

"If  the  Lord  called  upon  me  I  should  reck  not 

His  summons, 
Though  He  flung  down  my  body  to  deep  pita 

of  Hell; 
My  strong  hand  has  crushed  out  his  life,  whom 

I  hated, 
My  long-nourished  vengeance  I  have  sated  it 

well." 

•CoistaGannCeann-Literally,  "Coach  without  headj." 

27 


i 


! 

! 


rn 


Irish  Misi  Md  Sunshine 


fit  i 


n 

•  a 


■  ■; 


"Black  Niall  Moran,  'tis  a  blasphemy  spoken 
Lone,  lone  the  long  poad  athwart  the  moun- 
tains brown — , 
Oh,  'ware  you  the  graveyards  whose  portals 
now  open 

And  the  dread,  headless  horses  of  the  Coista 
Gann  Kown." 

A  curse  in  the  midnight,  and  a  loud  laugh  of 
scorn, 

A  murderer  plunges  in  the  black  jaws  of  night, 
The  high  gallows  threatened  and  the  pale 

breaking  morn. 
Far  out  over  ocean  should  see  him  in  flight. 

But  fearful  his  journey,  the  dreary  winds  af- 
fright him. 

Sobbing,  hopeless  sobbing  amid  the  branches 
sere 

From  the  wood-sheltered  cairn,  where  his  vic- 
tim lies  staring. 

The  Banshee's  awesome  ullagon  comes  to  his 
ear. 


11 


ii 


28 


ife-=: 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


UllagonI   Ullagon!   the  wailing  winds  repeat 

it, 
Ullagon!  Ullagon!  the  hollow  hills  reply! 
A  rustle  in  the  murky  gloom,— the  winging  of 

a  demon! 
A  voice  in  the  valley— 'tis  a  lost  spirit's  cry! 

Black  Niall  Moran,  where  now  your  bold 
vaunting 

Your  brow's  damp  with  terror.— God  spare 
your  guilty  soul. 

Hark!  o'er  the  din  of  your  scared  bosom's 
panting, 

Hear  the  Headless  Horses,  and  the  Dead- 
Coach's  roll! 

"Black  Niall  Moran,  if  e'er  you  prayed  to 

Heaven, 
Oh,  pray  unto  the  Saviour  now  for  succor  and 

for  grace." 
They  cr'ue,  the  demon  horses— sound  their 

tramp  like  hollow  thunder. 
The  lightnings  of  their  flashing  hoofs  illume 

nis  gh    tly  face. 


29 


Irish  Mist  Mfuf  Sunshine 


Ah:  vainly  doth  he  strive  to  pray— his  pallid 

lips  are  frozen, 
God's  Mother,   break  the  wicked  spell  that 

bind«  his  body  now. 
His  eyes  must  view  the  phantom  coach,  whose 

door  is  swinging  open, 
Within— a    reeking    body— 'tis    his    victim's 

clotted  brow! 

A  shriek  upon  the  midnight  air,— a  rumble  iu 

the  darkness, 
Again  the  demon  horses  thro'  the  mountains 

speed  away. 
Stark  dead  upon  the  roadside,  in  his  eyes  a 

naL'  ^less  horror. 
They  found  Black  Niall  lying  at  the  breaking 

of  the  day! 

Where  four  roads  meet  they  buried  him  when 

even-shades  were  falling; 
But   when   night's    dusky    curtains   on    the 

shrinkinp  hills  drop  down. 
They  hear  the  Dead  Coach  rushing  by,  and 

cross  their  foreheads  saying; 
"His  soul  must  ride  till  judgment  with  the 

Coista  Gann  Kown." 
30 


i: 


%^ 


Irish  Mist  and  Sanshint 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  BLUE  MAUREEN. 

It  was  the  brave  Bhip  Blae  Maureen 
Swept  out  from  Queenstown  Bay, 

Nor  shortened  sail  to  the  rising  gale 
That  whipped  the  seas  to  spray. 

Her  skipper  was  Rorke,  of  County  Cork, 

W'Leie  daring  men  are  bred; 
Dark  scowling  now  he  stood  at  the  prow 

And  scanned  the  skies  ahead. 

A  smuggler  free  and  fierce  was  he 

As  e'er  foiled  revenue  brand; 
No  storm  could  daunt  him  on  the  sea, 

And  he  feared  no  law  on  land. 

He  wore  away  to  the  wild  sou'-west, 

He  flew  as  the  swallow  flies, 
Past  Seven  Heads,  and  the  Galleys'  crest 

To  where  the  Three  Stags  rise. 


3» 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


I  ,i 


He  entered  a  lonely  cove  at  last, 
And  a  Spanish  ship  lay  there; 

The  Blue  Maureen  they  loaded  clean 
With  cargo  rich  and  rare. 

And  none  too  quick  was  done  the  trick 

For  as  he  sheered  away 
A  gun-boat  cleared  the  ocean  swell 

And  stuck  its  nose  in  the  bay. 

Said  Rorke,  "The  revenue-man's  not  built 

Can  fool  a  fox  like  me" — 
He  found  a  gate  thro'  a  hidden  strait, 

And  danced  on  the  open  sea. 

**Now  Revenue-man,  it's  catch  who  can" 
Said  Rorke,  "an'  we've  slipped  ye  well, 

Ho,  now  for  a  chase  and  a  clipping  race 
To  harbor  or  to  hell." 


if 


i 


The  storm-gust  shook  the  Blue  Maureen 

And  blew  her  into  the  west 
Like  thistle  down  in  the  summer  breeze 

From  Brown  Knocmeldom's  crest. 


32 


M 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunsiune 


The  skipper  laughed  to  his  flying  craft, 

No  revenue  boat  was  seen— 
"And  would  they  match  their  smoky  hulks 

To  sail  with  the  Blue  Maureen?" 

"Now  lads  to  wind  with  her  a  bit 

We'll  head  for  port  again, 
See  yonder  cloud  like  a  dead  man's  shroud, 

It  carries  a  hurricane." 

They  looked  and  the  erstwhile  smiling  south 
Grew  dark— as  dark  as  midnight. 

Dusky  and  dun  became  the  sun 
And  baleful  was  his  light. 

Black  and  blacker  the  skies  became     : 
Till  a  white  bolt  crashed  o'erhead, 

And  out  of  the  pall  came  a  thunder  call 
Like  the  last  trump  of  the  dead. 

"Ho!  down  the  sails— 'ware  foul  or  slip! 

And  watch  ye  well  the  south 
We've  saved  our  ship  from  the  bailiffs  grip 

But  we've  run  in  the  devil's  mouth!" 

33 


i. 


I    f 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


"A  curse  on  my  eyes  that  see  no  sign, 
A  curse  on  the  coining  blast, 

T'will  carry  us  bare  to  God  knows  where 
Nor  leave  us  a  rag  to  mast." 

He  spoke,  and  the  hissing  hurricane 

Drove  in  to  show  him  true; 
It  caught  the  ship  in  a  gusty  grip 

And  blind  to  the  north  she  tiew. 

Oh,  blind  she  flew  till  the  pallid  crew 
For  fear  could  scarce  draw  breath; 

Said  Rorke,  "this  drift  is  steady  and  swift 
And  the  end  of  it  all  is  death." 

"The  end  is  death,  be  it  long  or  short, 

Not  mine  the  skill  to  know. 
Or  grinding  shock  on  a  hidden  rock 

Or  flung  on  a  white  ice-floe." 

Then  northward  drove  the  Blue  Maureen, 

Still  north  a  day  and  night, 
With  never  a  lift  nor    nee  a  shift 

The  hurricane  proved  its  might. 


34 


fc 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


The  toppling  combers  swept  her  deck, 
Hard  lashed  the  helm-wheel  strained, 

The  bending  mast  in  the  ruthless  blast, 
Like  tortured  soul  complained. 

raid  Rorke:  "An  angry  God's  above, 
And  the  devil  is  'neath  our  keel, 

'Tis  late  in  the  day  for  me  to  pray, 
And  now  I  may  ^     J^neel." 

"For  God  would  sco  ^  my  puling  now. 

And  I  may  spare  my  breath; 
See  yon  black  wall!  Ho!  shipmates  all! 

*Tis  there— the  end— and  death!" 

The  Blue  Maureen  swung  wide  and  high, 

And  over  the  yawning  waves 
A  rock-bound  coast  the  vision  crossed, 

They  saw  their  waiting  graves. 

Black  Rorke  clung  fast  by  the  shaking  mast, 
When  sudden  he  was  aware 

A  shape  of  fear  was  standing  near- 
No  mortal  man  stood  there. 


35 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


Steady  and  stark  the  Stranger  stood, 

Nor  recked  the  reeling  ship; 
Then:   "Dermot   Rorke,  you  have  done   your 
work 

And  sailed  your  last  sea-trip." 

"Cast  is  the  line,  and  the  prize  is  mine 

So  now  I  claim  your  soul." 
The  skipper  he  looked  to  the  scowling  rocks, 

And  heard  the  breakers  roll. 


I 


"Oh  life  is  sweet  with  hell  to  meet," 
The  skipper  said  with  a  sigh. 

"I'll  sell  my  soul  when  seven  years  roll 
If  now  you  pass  me  by." 

"Your  soul  is  mine,"  said  the  demon  then, 

"When  e'er  I  will  to  take, 
But  now  you'll  sell  your  child  as  well. 

And  saved  be  for  her  sake. 

'TEer  soul  is  bright  with  a  wondrous  light 
(God's  grace  within  her  grew) 

I'll  take  that  soul  when  seven  years  roll. 
And  till  that  time  spare  you." 

36 


Irish  Mist  und  Sunshine 


Burst  from  the  skipper  a  cry  of  fear; 

"What!  take  my  child?"  he  said, 
"Not  for  the  earth  and  all  'tis  worth 

I'd  sell  a  hair  of  her  head." 

"Oh,  Lord,  that  rules  the  wind,  and  stirs 
The  deep  seas  with  Thj  breath. 

In  this  dread  hour  show  forth  Thy  power- 
Save  us  from  sin  and  death!" 

The  sinner  prayed— his  lips  were  stirred 

By  grace  of  his  own  child's  prayer; 
At  a  distant  shrine  her  call  was  heard, 
God  crowned  her  pleading  there. 

Ah!  none  may  claim  Christ's  aid  in  vain; 

And  now  a  child's  weak  moan 
Pierces  the  sky  and  there  on  high 

Bweet  mercy  claims  its  own. 

Great  is  Thy  saving  Name,  O  Christ! 

Afar  the  Tempter  flies, 
God's  holy  peace  falls  o'er  the  seas, 

The  storm-blast  moaning  dies! 

37 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


11 
I  i 


By  Queenstown  Bay,  on  the  sand-bars  gray, 

Beached  high  a  boat  is  seen; 
She  sails  no  more  where  deep  seas  roar, 

'Tis  the  brave  ship  Blue  Maureen. 

No  more  she'll  breast  the  billow's  crest 

On  perilous  cruise  out-bound, 
All  peaceful  now  is  the  skipper's  brow, 

God's  friendship  he  hath  found. 

Death's  call  he  waits,  at  the  harbor  gates, 

With  hope  God's  port  to  see; 
May  skies  be  fair  on  his  voyage  there. 

And  Christ  his  Pilot  be! 


38 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  OBMONDE. 

(A  Ballad  of  Kilkenny). 

Ormonde's  castle  stones  are  high 
Ormonde's  brazen  gates  are  grand 

Rich  is  the  Lord  of  Ormond,  why 
Coveted  he  my  cot  and  land? 

Steady  and  clear  the  river  flows 

Under  the  Bridge  of  Ormonde 
Out  with  the  flood  my  spirit  goes 

Far  from  the  shades  of  Ormond 
I  see  the  home  was  once  mine  own 
Desolate  now  its  cold  hearth-stone 
Barren  the  fields  and  weed-o'er-grown 

Stamped  with  the  curse  of  Ormonde. 

**Bent  or  the  land"!  they  said  that  day 
And   drove   us   out   on   the   bleak   highway 
I  cannot  rest  and  I  cannot  pray 
Cursing  the  greed  of  Ormonde. 


39 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


I 

if 
fc 


Proudly  above  Kilkenny  town 
Towers  the  walls  of  Ormonde 

I  wander  up  and  I  wander  down 
Over  the  Bridge  of  Ormonde. 

My  heart  is  broken,  my  hopes  are  dead 

No  roof  to  shelter  a  hoary  head 

But  he  lies  soft  on  a  down  bed 
Safe  in  the  palace  of  Ormonde! 

The  tyrant!— Safe!    Ah  that  dread  desire 

My  soul  is  seethed  in  hellish  fire! 

Ood  rescue  me  from  these  whispers  dire! 

Close  by  the  gates  of  Ormonde. 
Peaceful  and  still  the  waters  flow 

Under  the  Bridge  of  Ormonde 
"Would  that  my  tortured  breast  were  so 

Here  by  the  hall  of  Ormonde. 

Mother  of  God!  (the  sweet  words  bless) 
Hinder  my  hand  from  wickedness 
Aid!  oh  aid  me  in  dark  distress 
Lone  on  the  Bridge  of  Ormonde. 


40 


^^HHK-S- 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


WHEN  THE  SHADOW'S  ON  THE 
HEATHER. 

An  Irish  Christmas  Ballad. 

Slipping  down  tlie  Curlew  mountains  to  ih't 

early  Christmas  Mass, 
When  the  shadow's  of  the  heather  and  the 

rime  is  on  the  grass — 
Want  may  chill  our  highland  cottage;  troubles 

bide  with  us  alway. 
But  the  Saviour  makes  us  happy  on  his  holy 

Christmas  Day. 

I  must  wake  my  dear  ones  early  on  this  morn 
of  peace  and  joy, 

Little  pet-lamb,  pretty  Norah,  sturdy  Neil,  my 
noble  boy, 

When  the  hearth  is  clean  and  cosy  and  the 
dancing  flames  are  gay. 

And  tho  kettle  croons  a  welcome  to  the  com- 
ing Christmas  day. 


\m 


^;,!! 


1     !! 


41 


I>arkness  lingers  on  the  valley  and  the  fairy- 
haunted  glen, 

Eastward  now  tho  break  of  morning  brings 
the  peace  of  God  to  men. 

Near  the  mountam-rim, — first  jewel  of  the 
Christ-Ch:     j  diadem, 

Burns  a  star  of  radiant  beauty  like  the  Star  of 
Bethlehem. 

Wake  ye  now,  my  sleeping  treasures,  wake  ye 

now,  your  mother's  joy, 
Pretty  Norah,  drowsy  lambkin,  blue-eyed  Neil, 

my  laughing  boy — 
For  the  shadow's  on  the  heather,  and  the  rime 

is  on  the  grass, 
And  the  angels  hurry  earthward  to  the  early 

Christmas  Mass. 

See  above  you  ivied  abbey,  where  God's  ser- 
vants prayed  of  old, 

Fiery  pillars  in  the  heavens — bars  of  silver, 
shafts  of  gold — 

Swing  the  gates  of  glory  open,  shining  souls 
unnumbered  pass, 

Let  us  hurry  down  to  meet  them  at  the  early 
Christmas  Mass. 
42 


Irish  Misi  and  Sunshine 


Down  the  mountain,  up  the  valley,  from  the 

riverside  and  glen 
Throng   the    cheery-chatting    people,   stately 

women,  stalwart  men; 
Guard,  oh,  guard  them,  God  of  Erin!  bitter 

sorrow  theirs,  alas! 
Many  a  heart  shall  bleed  in  exile  ere  another 

Christmas  Mass. 

Lift  thy  drooping  face,  my  Erin,  God  has 

heard  thy  bitter  moan, 
Tho'  His  hand  rest  heavy  on  thee,  'tis  to  make 

thee  more  His  own. 
Faith  has  died   where   nations   flourished, — 

earthy  gain  His  gifts  surpass 
When  he  greets  His  gathered  people  at  the 

early  Christmas  Mass. 


\  n 


I  M 


43 


md^ 


mmm 


<l 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


THE  HANGING  OF  MYLE8  LEHANE. 

The  Baron  of  Graine  and  Gavan,  his  heart  was 

hard  aud  cold, 
He  loved  but  hi8  dogs  and  hunters — his  god 

was  greed  of  gold. 
Said  he:  "For  my  pride  and  pleasure  I'll  have 

those  broad  lauds  free, 
And  he  drove  his  serfs  to  the  workhouse,  or 

scourged  theia  o'er  the  sea. 
But  Myles  Lehane  of  Cashel  went  up  to  the 

Baron's  door. 
His  heart  like  lead  and  bowed  his  head, — he 

never  had  begged  before. 
Said  he,  "for  your  honor's  payment  long  years 

I've  drudged  like  a  beast, 
'Twill  break  my  heart  from  the  land  to  part, 

but  leave  us  the  house  at  least, 
For  Nora,  my  wife,  is  dying, — the  child  is  gone 

before,    * 
'Twas  fever  killed  our  darling,  so  the  neigh- 
bors come  no  more." 


44 


14     i 


Irish  Mist  Mid  Sunshine 


Then  the  Baron  swore  a  soinding  oath,  and 

ordered  the  "dog"  away, 
And  back  thro'  the  lain  went  Myles  L'lne 

to  his  woful  house  that  day. 

Next  morning's  sun  rose  grim  and  dun,  and  in 

thro'  the  valley's  gate, 
Like  a  river  red  the  "Death  Brigade"  defiled 

in  martial  state. 
Oh,  bold  and  gay  they  looked  that  day,  the 

Royal  British  Horse, 
But  they  did  a  work  would  shame  a  Turk  that 

spares  not  the  senseless  corse. 
Their  sabres  clanked  full  gallantly,  their  hoof- 
beat  echoed  plain, 
Till  they  came  to  halt  with  never  a  fault  by 

the  house  of  Myles  Lehane, 
And  there  they  formed  a  cordon,  all  strict  to 

thr»  rules  of  war. 
(Would  they  do  so  well  to  the  Arab  yell  on 

Afric  sands  afar?) 


:•! 


45 


d^ 


mmmm 


«Hi 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


I 


Within  his  straw  roofed  cottage,  his  own  no 
longer  now, 

Sat  Myles  Lehane  deep-bowed  in  pain,  cold 
fear-drops  on  his  brow, 

Dread  were  the  thoughts  he  wrestled,  but  nev- 
er uttered  a  sound. 

The  hand  of  God  lay  heavy  on  him— the  wrath 
of  men  around. 

His  sick  wife  lay  beside  him,  her  life-tide  ebb- 
ing fast. 

And  he  prayed  that  ere  the  troops  came  there 
her  spirit  might  have  passed. 

The  damp,  death-reek  was  on  her  cheek,  the 
Priest  was  kneeling  by. 

But  she  heard  outside  the  soldiers'  stride,  and 
pitiful  was  her  cry: 

"Oh,  wirra,  toirra*  the  bitter  day!  and  have  I 
lived  so  long, 

And  must  I  lie  by  the  road  to  die,  that  never 
did  man  wrong! 

Oh,  Myles,  my  heart's  light  ever,  come  near 
and  hold  my  hand, 

Twas  gladsome  May  our  wedding  day  and 
sunshine  filled  the  land; 

•  Wirra,  (lit.)  Oh,  Mary,  Mary! 

46 


«;     I 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


The  birds  sang  gay  our  wedding  day,  the  bend- 
ing skies  were  blue, 
And  you  were  there  my  king  of  men,  and  I  was 

fair  to  you. 
Our  joys  and  our  heavy  sorrows  we  shared 

them  side  by  side. 
When  the  crops  and  cattle  prospered — when 

the  son  of  our  bosoms  died; 
But  now  when  your  blackest  trouble  is  falling 

upon  your  head, 
I  must  leave  you,  Myles,  my  husband,  to  be 

with  the  griefless  dead. 
Yet  hear  me,  our  God  is  mercy, — He  judges 

the  deeds  of  men; 
I'll  pray  at  His  throne  for  you,  my  own,  until 

we  meet  again." 

Bang  on  the  door  a  gun-butt — hurtled  a  hoarse 

command: 
"Now,   Myles   Lehane,   in  the  Queen's  high 

name,  give  up  your  house  and  land." 


il 


47 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


The  hinges  burst  like  rot-wood,  and  in  the 
bailiffs  strode, 

"Now  out  with  them,  bag  and  baggage,  to  beg 
their  rent  on  the  road!" 

The  priest  stood  up  from  the  bedside,  his  tear- 
filled  eyes  flashed  fire — 

"Oh,  men,  would  ye  shome  your  manhood  to 
do  such  deed  for  hire, 

The  wild  beast  chased  and  wounded  may  die 
at  last  in  his  lair. 

And  would  ye  refuse  like  mercy  to  God's  own 
image  there?" 


'!| 


Then  spoke  his  lordship's  agent, — a  fiend  in- 
carnate he, — 

"You'll  leave  the  house  my  prating  priest,  and 
curse  her!  so  shall  she. 

No!  fetch  me  the  oil-can,  hearties — we'll  have 
a  bonfire  good, 

And  crack  our  joke  while  the  rats  we  smoke, 
as  loyal  subjects  should." 


48 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


They  bore  her  out  on  the  roadside,  they  laid 

her  down  to  die, 
The  flames  from  the  burning  cottage  leaped 

fiercely  to  the  sky. 
But  swifter  on  to  the  heavens  the  soul  of  "k 

woman  went, 
The  angels  found  her  a  dwelling-place,  and 

never  a  word  of  rent. 


II. 


'Tis  night  in  the  gloomy  valley,  'tis  night  on 

the  hillside  drear. 
Hark!  heard  ye  a  gunshot  sounding — heard  ye 

a  shriek  of  fear? 
A    c     ierer  flies  in  terror,  his  deed  was  done 

too  well — 
The  Baron  of  Graine  and  Cavan,  his  soul  is 

deep  in  hell! 
A  bullet  has  found  its  billet  out  there  on  tho 

lonesome  moor, 
No  more  he'll  grind,  in  his  anger  blind,  the 

faces  of  God's  poor. 


i 


49 


Irish  Mist  &nd  Sunshine 


And  out  on  the  widening  ocean  a  swift  ship 

flies  e'en  now 
The  winds  blow  fair,  yet  one  they  bear,  with 

Cain-brand  on  his  brow. 

Kow  flash  ye  the  news  of  horror  to  every  land 

and  clime, 
And  mark  the  race  with  deep  disgrace  whose 

sons  have  wrought  such  crime! 
What  tho'  in  peaceful  England  a  thousand 

worse  befall, 
The  Baron  great  had  wealth  and  state  and 

lived  in  princely  hall, 
But  mind!  no  word  of  the  woman — she  died  by 

deed  of  law, 
We  rule  them  strong,  we  may  do  wrong,  but, 

look  ye,  find  no  flaw, 
And  find  us  a  ready  victim,  it  boots  not  whom 

nor  how, 
The  outraged  State  must  vindicate  her  injured 

Justice  now. 


50 


s  k 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


They  found  ere  long  a  victim — the  proofs,  they 

aaid  were  plain — 
And    Dublin's    deep-walled    dungeons    soon 

closed  on  Myles  Lehane. 
Like  Him  of  old,  the  Scourged  One,  he  made 

no  moan  or  cry; 
They  dragged  him  out  in  the  blaze  of  noon  and 

told  him  he  must  die. 
"Now  Myles  Lehane,  in  your  Maker's  name, 

what  word  have  yon  to  say 
With  latest  breath  to  the  doom  of  death  that 

falls  on  you  today?" 

The  peasant  knelt  to  Heaven,  his  hair  gleamed 

white  to  the  sun, 
^'My  Lord,  of  the  crime  I'm  guiltless;  but 

God's  high  will  be  done! 
I  fear  not  to  meet  my  Saviour— He  promised 

the  wronged  redress; 
The  death  I  die  is  shameful,  my  shame  than 

His  far  less. 


ii 


51 


M-^j^'^K,, 


Irish  Mist  dtid  Sunshine 


Better  to  die  and  end  it  than  live  a  trampled 

slave 
With  never  a  breath  of  freedom — no  hope  but 

the  waiting  grave. 

The  precious  gold  we  drudge  for  buys  feast 

for  a  glutton's  hall; 
Better  than  life  of  torture,  be  robbed  at  once 

of  all." 
Ah!  Myles  Lehane,  of  Cashel,  dost  hear  thy 

death-bell  toll? 
The  grim  black  flag  they've  hoisted— Christ'^ 

mercy  on  thy  soul! 
The  guards  drag  forth  their  victim,  the  hang- 
man stands  in  wait. 
Like  watchers  by  a  death-bed,  the  people  pray 

at  the  gate. 
The  black  mask  veils  his  vision— he  looked  his 

last  on  the  snn. 
Now  God  and  the  Virgin  aid  him— the  awful 

doom  is  done! 


52 


If 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


Thro'  the  grimy  streets  of  Dublin  the  crowds 

creep  shuddering  home, 
And  down  from  the  Wicklow  summits  the 

gusty  rain-blasts  come. 
They  weep  through  the  darkened  city  to  wash 

its  guilt  away. 
They  tell  to  the  sullen  Irish  Sea  a  tale  of 

shame  today. 

I  saw  a  singer  of  ballads,  he  sang  a  song  in 

the  street. 
In  the  heart  of  Dublin  City,  'mid  bustle  and 

hurry  of  feet. 
Men's  cheeks  flushed  hot  to  hear  him,  and 

women's  went  white  with  pain — 
I've  tried  to  sing  you  the  song  I  heard— The 

Hanging  of  Myles  Lehane. 


ill 


53 


Irish  Mist  And  Sunshine 


It 

■i 


THE  FAIRY-STOLEN. 
An  Irish  Ballad. 

Mother  dear,  my  mother,  they  have  stolen  me 
away 

And  I  miss  yon  mother  darling  all  the  live- 
long day 

When  the  dreamy  sun  is  shining,  and  the 
fleecy  clouds  sail  by. 

Ton  are  weeping  for  me,  mother,  and  I  hear 
your  bitter  cry. 

I  wandered  by  the  fairy  Rath,  I  wandered  all 
alone. 

I  played,  nor  thought  of  danger,  by  the 
haunted  Ogam  Stone 

Till  the  fairies  from  Knocsheela  came  and  car- 
ried me  away 

Where  they  live  within  the  mountain  in  their 
palaces  of  clay. 


54 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


Mother  dear,  oh  mother,  they  have  crowned 
me  Fairy  Queen, 

They  have  robed  me  in  a  vesture  of  the  sun- 
set's wondrous  sheen, 

They  have  dowered  me  with  treasure  that 
their  fairy  castles  hold. 

But  more  precious  to  me  mother  your  sweet 
kiss  than  shining  gold. 

When  the  sun  is  on  the  mountain,  and  the 
cloud  shades  come  and  go 

And  drowsy  brooklets  downward  'neath  the 
noddinsr  hazels  flow, 

When  the  bee  is  in  the  fox-glove,  and  in  covert 
hides  the  hare, 

Oh,  look  upon  the  mountain  then,  for  mother, 
.   I  am  there. 

But  when  the  night  has  fallen  and  the  mystio 
moonlight  comes, 

And  darkly  on  the  valley's  breast  the  grey- 
walled  castle  looms, 

Oh  then  along  the  river's  banks  we're  skip- 
ping near  and  far 

Till  dawn  with  spears  of  silver  drives  away 
the  Morning  Star. 
55 


II 


i.i 


Irish  Mist  Mnd  Sunshine 


Twas  bat  yesternight  oh  mother  that    we 

passed  the  cottage  by 
Ah,  my  eager  heart  beat  heavily  to  know  that 

you  were  nigh. 
I  saw  the  tears  you  shed  for  me,  I  heard  your 

troubled  prayer, 
But  the  fairy  throng  bore  swift    along,   I' 

could  not  linger  there. 

Mother  dear,  my  mother,  I  am  dying  day  by 
day, 

They  may  hold  my  lifeless  body,  but  my  spir- 
it will  not  stay, 

It  will  seek  you  mother  darling  thro'  the  sun- 
shine or  the  rain, 

And  the  fairies  of  the  mountain  cannot  steal 
your  child  again. 


>. 


Irish  Mist  And  Sunshine 


ON  KENMARE  HEAD. 
An  Irish  Ballad. 

Sweet  Mother  of  the  Crucified 

Be  nigh  to  aid  me  now. 
My  old  eyes  view  the  sad  gray  sea 

Beyond  the  cliff's  high  brow; 
The  wide,  gray  sea  that  sullenly 

Beats  on  the  black  rocks  bare, 
The  while  I  moan,  bereft  and  lone, 

On  the  Head  of  Old  Kenmare. 

Oh  bitter  day  I  lost  for  aye 

The  dear  ones  of  my  soul! 
And  cruel  sea!— twixt  them  and  me 

How  broad  and  bleak  you  roll! 
Two  graves  are  lying  far  away 

With  none  to  kneel  in  pray'r— 
And  I,  their  mother,  weeping  Lere 

On  the  Head  of  Old  Kenmare. 


li 


I 


57 


"^S^iSi'^it^  -jsi: 


Irish  Mist  -ind  Sctrshine 


My  Owen  left  our  » sibin  door 

A  dreary  winter  day, 
''Full  quick  I'll  send  ye  gold  galore 

The  heavy  rent  to  pay." 
Mo  nuar!  'twas  the  killing  word 

They  wrote  from  over  there, — 
''He's  dying  and  his  love  he  sends 

To  those  in  Old  Kenmare." 


h 


Then  Mary,  treasure  of  my  life — 

How  sweet  her  modest  grace! 
My  timid  lamb,  she  left  me  too 

The  hard  world-winds  to  face. 
Poor  child,  her  heart  was  broken  soon 

With  all  a  strange  land's  care; 
They  laid  her  by  her  brother's  side 

Far,  far  from  Old  Eenmare. 


Now  ever  to  my  anguished  soul 
Their  dying  voices  reach, 

I  hear  them  in  the  waves  that  roll 
And  sob  along  the  beach. 


58 


i 


hish  Mt^:  and  Sunshine 


I  listen  aod  the  i  roon   .g  wii    ^ 
Thoite  ia«t  love-whi:      ^ 

To  me,  their  motl  ^r,  ^mtmm  '«*« 
On  the  Il«ad  ^>     >ld  >    OBaare. 


Bweet  Mot  a*r       the  Crucified, 

Thy  woes  wert  greater  far, 
To  th«**»  an  eflr^My  mother  prays 

W^o  art  tb    Ocean's  Star. 
Thou  standing,  nj  the  awful  Cross, 

Oh  str  ^fthen  r  f^  to  bear 
My  8orro.>  s^ellin     ike  the  sea 

i>v  the  riffed  of      d  Kenmare. 


11 


59 


^^^^w^s 


5a^svr 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


11 


CNOO-MAOL-DHOUN.* 

Ah!  sweel  is  Avondhuv  that  flows  by  lordly 

Gappoquin 
And  sighing  low  the  south  winds  blow  across 

the  Vale  of  Glin, 
Ood's  blessings  on  our  Irish  land,  as  well  in 

field  and  town, 
But  give  me  strength  and  let  me  stand  on 

Gnoc-Maol-Dhoun. 

Now  fairy  hands  are  finding  me  and  friendly 

sprites  are  they, 
Oh,  fairy  hands  are  binding  me,  "we'll  bear 

you  up,"  they  say; 
"Come  up  where  starry  heather-flowers  and 

golden  gorse  encrown 
The  monarch  of  all  fairy-mounds,  our  Gnoc* 

Maol  Dhoun." 

•  The  brown  Smooth  Hill.— In  County  Waterford,  Ire- 
land. 


It  I 


■■■■ 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


I  yield  me  to  their  magic  spell,  its  power  is  not 

gain-said, 
We  leave  at  once  the  lowly  dell,  and  seek  the 

mountain's  head, 
I  feel  the  breeze  of  ocean  now,  I  smell  the 

fraoicb  brown. 
And  cooled  the  fever  of  my  brow  on  Cnoc- 

Maol-Dhoun. 

Afar  the  shining  Suir  leaps  Ardfinan's  wood- 
lands o'er. 
Afar  the  thundrous  billow  sweeps  thine  echo- 

inj;  wall  Ardmore; 
On  snnny  hill  and  misty  vale  my  vision  ranges 

down, 
And  fancy  teems  with  olden  dreams,  on  Cnoc- 

Maol-Dhoun. 
On  yonder  plain,  in  war-array,  I  see  the  hosts 

of  Finn, 
And  mighty  chiefs  of  ancient  day,— I  hear 

their  arms'  din; 
Famed  Oisin  of  th"  Yellow  Locks  and  Conan 

of  Renown, 
Their  shadows  rise  before  mine  eyes,  on  Cnoc- 

Maol-Dhoun. 

6i 


■  I 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


Pass  Gonall  and  the  Bed  Branch  Knights, — 

and  Maev,  to  conflict  dire, 
Bee  great  Guculain,  ''Lord  of  Fights"  his  spear 

a  flame  of  Are. 
A  moment  through  the  shifting  mist  sad  Deir- 

dre's  face  is  shown, 
Kind  fairies  grant  the  sight  ye  list,  on  Gnoc- 

Maol-Dhoun. 

Ah!  poor  in  sordid  wealth  of  gold,  but  rich  is 

Erin  still 
In  magic  spell  and  legend  old,  that  cling  to 

heath  and  hill. 
Dearer  than  gold  a  thousand  fold,  God's  beai? 

ties  rare  that  crown, 
The  streams  that  flow  thy  heights  below  old 

Gnoc-Maol-Dhoun. 


It  I 

Ui 


6a 


HHtfHuai 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


LAMENT  FOR  CILL  CEANNAIGH. 

It  is  my  bitter  Borrow  that  the  heavy-rolling 

main 
Betwixt  me  and  the  land  I  love  up-swells  to 

mock  my  pain; 
A  weary  load  is  on  me  that  the  Spring  i«  here 

again — 
And  I  far  away  from  Kilkenny. 

This  cheerless  exile,  day  by  day,  more  griey- 

onsly  I  me, 
And  foreign  skies  grow  dark  to  me  recalling 

skies  of  blue, 
Fade  out,  ye  stretching  city  streets,  and  smile 

the  fields  I  knew, 
In  the  gold-misty  vales  of  Kilkenny. 


«3 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


On  Bnir's  banks  the  winds  of  March  awake  the 

daffodil— 
In  sprouting  groves  by  Glodagh's  stream  the 

cuckoo's  numbers  thrill, 
The  saucy,  sunny  primroses  in  hollow  and  on 

hill 
Are  scenting  the  gale  of  Kilkenny. 

Oh  ye  that  pass  o'er  heath  and  grass,  all  in  the 

morning  dawn, 
The  heights  to  breast,  your  brows  caressed 

with  breeze  from  Sliav-na-mon ; 
Till  Suir  shiues  in  golden  light,  and  every 

shadow's  gone, 
Bless  God  that  your  home's  in  Kilkenny. 

Along  the  winding  country  ways  the  haw- 
thorn hedge  is  white. 
The  red  breast  from  his  mossy  nest  doth  watch 

you  out  of  sight; 
Oh,  sweet  the  day  in  balmy  May,  and  soft  the 
dewy  night 
That  falls  o'er  my  home  in  Kilkenny. 


<i0^ 


Irish  Mist  ana  Sunshine 


To  list  the  ploughman's   cheery  voice, — the 

houchaVa  whistle  call, 
To  hear  the  pure  faced  cailins  sing  that  guide 

the  cows  to  stall; 
To  watch  the  stalwart  hurlers  leap  and  strike 

the  bounding  ball, 
Mo  Jihron  that  I'm  far  from  Kilkenny. 


There  is  a  heather-belted  hill  lifts  high  its 
summit  bare — 

And  up  its  sides  the  pleasant  fields  are  climb- 
ing everywhere; 

If  I'd  my  way,  'tis  there  today  I'd  breathe  the 
blessed  air, 
And  greet  my  old  friends  in  Kilkenny. 

0  Erin,  call  thy  scattered  sons,  and  bid  them 

all  unite — 
**To  long  in  alien  wars  ye  bleed— unblest  that 

fruitless  fight. 
Arise  again,  unconquered  men,  do  battle  for 

the  right, 
And  free  the  fair  homes  of  Kilkenny." 


1 1 
i  J 


65 


Irish  Mist  md  Sunshine 


BALLAD  OF  THE  BANSHEE. 

Back  thro'  the  hiil  I  harried  home 
Ever  my  boding  soul  would  say 

^'Mother  and  sister  bid  thee  come 
Long,  too  long  has  been  thy  stay." 

Stars  shone  out,  but  the  moon  was  pale 
Touched  by  a  black  cloud's  ragged  rim 

Sudden  I  heard  the  Banshee's  wail 
Where  Malmor's  war-tower  rises  grim. 

Quickly  I  strode  across  the  slope 
Passed  the  grove  and  the  Fairy  Mound 

(Gloomy  the  moat  where  blind  owls  mope) 
Scarcely  breathing,  I  glanced  around. 


k 


66 


.'-  \ 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


Mother  of  mercy!  there  she  sat 
A  woman  clad  in  a  anow-white  Bhroud 

Streamed  her  hair  to  the  damp  moss-mat 
White  the  face  on  her  bosom  bowed. 

"Spirit  of  Woe,"  I  eager  cried, 
"Tell  me  none  that  I  love  has  gone," 

"Cold  is  the  grave":  my  accents  died — 
The  Banshee  lifted  her  face  so  wan. 

Pale  and  wan  as  the  waning  moon 
Seen  when  the  sun-spears  herald  dawn 

Ceased  all  sudden  her  dreary  croon 
Full  on  my  own  her  wild  eyes  shone. 

Burned  and  seared  my  inmost  soul 
(When  shall  sorrow  depart  from  me?) 

Black-winged  terror  upon  me  stole 
Blindly  gaping,  I  turned  to  flee. 


67 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


/. 

(V  i 


I 

i 


Back  by  the  grove  and  haunted  mound 
O'er  the  lone  road  I  know  not  how 

Hearkened  afar  my  baying  hound 
Home  at  last  at  the  low  hilPs  brow. 

Lone  the  cottage — ^the  door  flung  wide 
Four  lights  burned — oh  sight  of  dread! 

Breathing  a  prayer,  I  rushed  inside, 
**Mercy,  God!"    'twas  my  mother,  dead! 


9' 


Dead  and  white  as  the  fallen  leaf 
(Kneeling  my  sister  prayed  near  by) 

Wild  as  I  wrestled  with  my  grief 
Far  and  faint  came  the  Banshee's  cry. 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


THE  BED  WALLfe  OP  LIMERICK. 
A  Brigade  Ballad, 

There's  bittd-  woe  in  Erin  since  the  Wild 
Geege  sailed  away, 

The  clairseaoh  *  sobs  with  sorrow  now,  that 
erst  rang  loud  and  gay; 

Unheard  the  tramp  of  Sarsfleld's  Horse  and 
D'Usson's  bugle-bray. 
Mo  nuarl  Mo  nuar!  the  lost  pride  of  Limer- 
ick! 

The  treaty  is  broken  and  our  wrongs  are  un- 
redressed, 

A  murdered  peasant's  hanging  high  on  yon- 
der mountain  crest; 

See  there  a  starving  mother,  with  a  dead  child 
to  her  breast. 
Mo  nuar!  Mo  nuar!  the  black  woes  of  Lim- 
erick! 

•  Caairseach— the  harp. 


69 


Irish  Mbi  und  Sunshine 


i'  ■ 


Go  Dkia,  bat  these  deathly  days  hang  like  a 
funeral  pall 

Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  battle  break  'gainst 
belching  fort  and  wall; 

Dutch  William's  stormers  stagger  back  from 
shearing  blade  and  ball. 
Mo  naar!  Mo  nuar!  the  Bed  Walls  of  Lim- 
erick! 

How  leaped  our  hearts  when  Luoan^s  Horse 
swept  by  at  thunderous  pace! 

How  cheered  we  Dillon's  dancing  plume,  and 
Berwick's  martial  grace! 

Ah!  days  indeed!  Our  tender  maids  feared  not 
grim  death  to  face, 
Mo  nuar!  Mo  nuar!  the  lone  homes  of  Lim- 
erick! 

But   Sarsfield   and   his   "Slashers"   all   have 
sailed  away  to  France, 

On  Europe's  shaking   battle-fields  their   fiery 
chargers  prance, 

And  Erin-  -hiipless  Erin,  now  has  not  one 
guarding  lance. 
Mo  nuar!  Mo  nuar!  the  dead  hopes  of  Lim- 
erick! 

70 


m 


Irbh  Mbi  mJ  Sunshine 


Broad  Shannon'a  eddying  waters  hurry  out- 
ward to  the  sea, 

A  hundred  exile-bearing  shipi  adown  its  wide 
gate  flee! 

Alone  I  wait  the  shadows  of  the  night  that  ii 
to  be. 
Mo  nuar!  Mo  nnarl  the  lost  cause  of  Limer- 
ick! 


71 


Irish  Mist  And  Sunshine 


LAV-LAIDHIB  ABU. 

("About  thi$  time  a  grtat  ditgrace  fOl  upon  the 
noble  family  of  O'Brien;  for  the  chieftain  Mur- 
rough,  a  man  brave  beyond  compare,  and  of  comp- 
ly P"  oent  over  to  the  English  with  part  of  kit 
tian  and  waged  war  without  m^rcy  against  his 
*t«6men  and  former  friends.  So  terrible  in  tooth 
were  his  demstatUms  that  he  thereafter  utai 
known  to  the  Irish  as  'Murrough  the  Burner,*  **) 
Old  Chronicler. 

My  head  is  bowed,  and  my  heart  is  breaking, 
My  Clairseach  damb  for  my  country's  shame, 
This  burden  black  from  my  spirit  shaking, 
J'll  strike  again  to  an  ancient  name. 
Lav-Laidhir  Abu! 
That  shout  thrilled  many  a  field  of  fame, 
Lav-Laidhir  Abu! 


72 


iHsh  Mbi  JOid  Sunshine 


A  bard  am  I  of  a  house  dishonored; 

A  song  nnsaddened  do  longer  mine; 
Loud  rang  my  harp  amid  hosts  embannered, 
When  Erin's  shield  was  the  race  of  Brian. 
Lav-Ijaidhir  Abuf 
Lord  God,  look  down  on  a  princely  line, 
Lav-Laidhir  Almt 

Flash  forth,  Kincora,  thy  halls  of  glory, 
Come,   famed  Clontarf,  to  -^y  sad  soul's 
8i„'ht, 
A  thousand  fields  where  in  bar  !i'  «orv 
The  Strong  Hand  wrestled  f«     ETui';*  right. 
Lav-Laidhir  Abu  I 
Thrice  cursed  be  he  that  its  strength  would 
blight, 

Lav-Laidhir  Aim! 

Accursed  be  he  upon  plain  and  mountain, 

Acoursed  n'-iaiti  upon  shore  and  wave. 
Shame's  hot  breath  poison    his    heart's  life- 
fountain, 
Shallow  and  red  his  polluted  grave. 
Lav-Luidhir  Abu! 
A  haughty  house,  has  it  borne  a  slave? 
Lav-Laidhir  Ahi! 
73 


mmm 


ipMapHI 


^ll 


Irish  Mist  ama  Sunshine 


r» 


V 


Murrough  the  Barner!   from  Groome  to  Oon- 
nanght 
I  see  the  smoke  of  your  conquests  rise; 
Maddened  with  slaughter,  yoor  heme  and  hon- 
naght 
Affright  out  valleys  with  murderous  cries. 
Lav-Laididr  Abul 
The  dumb  beasts  e'en  from  their  presence  flies, 

Lav-Laidhir  Abul 
Green  bosomed  Thomond,  your  bloom  is  faded. 

Proud  Cashei's  portals  your  pride  is  fled, 
Grim  Murrough's  butchers,  by  Satan  aided, 
Have  made  wide  Desmond  a  house  of  dead. 
Lav-Laidhir  Abul 
But  rise,  ye  clans  to  a  vengeance  dret^! 
Lav-Laidhir  Abul 

Afar  I  hearken  the  banshee  calling 
Fierce    Thommond's    chief  to    his    bloody 
tomb — 
Murrough  the  Burner,  the  bolt  is  falling, 
Thy  gibbering  victims  around  thee  loom. 
Lav-Laidhir  Abul 
Meet  for  a  traitor  a  trkdtor's  doom, 
Lav-Laidhir  Abu! 

74 


mmt 


iHsh  Mist  Md  Sunshine 


THE  MABGH  OF  THE  "NORTH  CORK." 
A  Ballad  of  *98. 

The  BQminer  morn  was  breaking  in  the  valley 

of  the  Snir, 
The  first  faint  annbeams  quivered  on  the  river 

running  pure, 
When  out  from  Carriok's  olden  walls  a  gay 

battalion  strode, 
And  twice  five  hundred  bayonets  filed  down 

the  dusty  road. 

Black  Horsley  of  Dunmanaway,  he  faced  his 

men  and  daid; 
"Our  journey's  goal  is  Wexford  Town,  our 

road  lies  straight  ahead; 
There's  booty  there,  and  fame  to  win  for  every 

yeoman  true; 
My  faith!  we'll  teach  the  rebel  hordes  what 

royal  swords  can  do!" 


75 


li 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


1- 


I 

I 


On  marched  the  North  Cork  Eegiment,  a  gal- 
laud  sight  to  see; 

Their  tall  plames  flattered  In  the  breeze,  their 
bugles  brayed  with  glee; 

Past  fair  Mooncoin,  past  Granagh's  tower, 
past  ancient  Waterford, 

-A->d  soon  o'er  Wexford's  war-scarred  fields 
their  crimson  banner  soared. 

What  flres  are  those  that  flash  on  high?  ^\Tuit 
shrieks  that  pierce  the  air? 

'Tis  not  the  flame  of  cannon's  mouth,  or  battle- 
trumpet's  blare. 

Oh  Wexford!  'tis  thy  roofs  that  blaze,  and 
'tis  thy  women's  cry; 

Now  up,  and  grasp  thy  gory  pike  the  ven- 
geance hour  is  nigh! 

The  mornings  light  was  glancing  bright  on 

many  a  gliding  rill, 
The  rising  sun  was  burnishing  the  slopes  of 

Cnlart  Hill; 


76 


Irbh  Mist  Mid  Sunshine 


From  storied  Wexford's  guarded  gate  a  train 

of  yeomen  passed — 
They  little  dreamed  the  march  that  day  was 

fated  for  their  last. 

At  noon  on  Culart's  moss-clad  height  loud 

rang  the  musketry 
And  Wexford  flung  upon  the  foe  her  peasant 

chivalry, 
Short  shrift  the  ruffian  spoilers  found  when 

gleamed  the  dreaded  pike, 
For  rengeance  nerved  the  patriot's  arm  and 

pointed  where  to  strike. 

Old  Enniscorthy  next  saw  fall  the  "rebel's" 
blow  of  hate, 

When  fled  the  fear-struck  yeomanry  from  fa- 
mous Duffry  Gate; 

They  fell  as  fall  the  ripened  crops  when  tem- 
pest lashed  them  down, 

And  few  and  pale  the  fugitives  that  entered 
Wexford  Town. 


77 


iHsh  Mist  »nd  Sunshine 


Such  was  the  fate  well-merited  befell  that 

fiendish  crew 
The  ravisherg  of  peaceful  homes,  the  batchers 

of  Garnew. 
Light,  Wexford,  light  thy  triumph  fires,  till 

hill  and  valley  glow 
And  bless  thy  peasant-warriors  that  never 

feared  a  foe! 

The  patriot  fiames  they  kindled  then  have 
never  since  grown  cold. 

Today  in  Bargy  and  Idrone  are  hearts  that 
beat  as  bold, 

And  tho*  the  **Boys  of  Wexford"  failed  on  fat- 
al Vinegar  Hill, 

"They're  ready  for  another  fight  and  love  their 
country  still." 


i< 


iHsh  Misi  Mid  Sunshine 


THE  PIKEMEN. 

A  Ballad  of  '98. 

The  troops  are  out  in  Bargy  and  the  yeomen 

in  Idrone, 
The  pitch-caps  and  the  gory  lash  make  guilt- 
lets  Tictimt  groan. 
Bed  murder  stalks  the  villages,  and  high  the 

roof  trees  flame, 
Arise  ye,  men  of  Wexford  now,  or  live  in  last- 
ing ahame! 
Te  pikemen,  bold  pikemen, 
Old  Wexford  calls  her  pikemen. 
See,  at  her  call,  they  master  all, 
For  vengeance  now,  griiu  pikemen! 

The  pleagh  they  leave  by  Blaney's  banks,  the 

scythe  in  soft  Imayle, 
And  ont  ttarongfa  famous  Scollagh  gap,  they 

■urge  like  avtnmn  gale. 


79 


Irish  Mist  Jind  Sunshine 


■  \ 


Bold  hearts  are  there  from  Ballaghkecn  anr< 

wooded  Shilmaliere. 
Sends  many  a  stalwart  rifleman  to  fill  the  foe 
with  fear. 
The  plkemen,  the  pikemen, 
The  stormy-cheering  pikemen, 
Broad  Barrow's  flood  shall  flow  with 

blood, 
Bush  in,  ye  rebel  pikemen! 

Above  on  sanny  Oamarus  the  /raiooA-blossoms 

blow, 
Qrim  massacre  and  pillage  fright  the  fertile 

vales  below. 
Bough   Gorrigrew  is  basking  in  the  scented 

summer  gale, 
In  Oorey  at  the  mountain-foot  is  heard  the 
maiden'8  wail. 
Ye  pikemen,  brave  pikemen, 
Ha!  tarry  not,  ye  pikemen! 
*Tis  ycurs  to  quell  that  spawn  of  hell, 
For  hearths  and  homes,  ye  pikemen! 


80 


-  w^^si^^Bmit^^z^^ 


Irish  Mist  Mid  Sunshine 


The  morning  inn  is  burnishing  the  slopes  of 

Golart  Hill. 
His  low  beam  strikes  on  serried  pikes,  a  sight 

the  soul  to  thrill. 
Like  flame  athwart  the  ripened  fields,  from 

Wexford'«  guarded  gate 
The  "red  North  Cork"— their  life-sands  run- 
march  out  to  meet  their  fate. 
The  pikemeii,  the  pikemen, 
The  dread,  resistless  pikemen, 
Grim  harvest  now,  on  Oulart's  brow 
They  reap,  the  rebel  pikemen. 

High   noon   in    Enniscorthy— from   the   far- 
famed  Duflfry  Gate 
The  tyrant's  smoking  cannon  hurl  their  mes- 
sengers of  hate. 
In  vain,  in  vain,  his  bullets  gain,  and  thunder 

loud  the  guns, 
Those  ranks  accursed,  the  pikemen  burst- 
old  Wexford's  dashing  sons! 
The  pikemen,  the  pikemen. 
They  staggered  from  the  pikemen, 
Their  black  hearts  feel 
The  patriot  steel, 
The  vengeance  of  th'*  pikemen. 
81 


a^n-a^Bs^s 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


% 


The  "ancient  Briton's"  went  to  death  ou  Tub- 

berneering's  Plain, 
The  Irish  green  at  Taghmon  waved  o'er  many 

a  foeman  ilain, 
Oh,  for  an  Owen  Boe  again  to  lead  with  Span- 
ish steel! 
From  Wexford's  bristling  vanguard  then,  op- 
pression's ranks  should  reel. 
The  pikemeu,  the  pikemen, 
A  leader  for  the  pikemen, 
Tr:^»y    heard    with  fear,  your    stormy 

cheer 
Ye  mocked  at  death,  fierce  pikemen! 

'Tis  true,  alas,  ye  fought,  and  fai^  when 

stubborn  Ross  ran  red,        " 
The  fatal  slope  of  Vinegar  Hill  was  matted 

with  your  dead. 
Unconquered    souls!     your    fame    shall    live 

while  runs  the  rapid  Nore, 
All   honor,  deathless  pikemen  to  your   green 
graves  evermore! 
The  pikemen,  the  pikemen, 
When  Erin  needs  her  pikemen, 
God  send  her  the-i  heroic  men 
liike  Wexford's  fearl'^ss  pikemen. 
82 


'  i 


ii 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


BONO  OF  THE  LITTLE  VILLAGES.* 
The  pleasant  little  villages  that  grace  the  Irish 

Down  aiSonT  the  wheat.fleldB,-up  amid  the 
whins,  ^,        ,    ^ 

The  little  white  walled  villages  crowding  dose 
together,  ,   ^       , 

CUnging  to  the  Old  Sod  In  tpite  of  wind  and 
weather:  ,       ^    . 

Ballytamney,  Ballymore,  Ballyboden,  BoyK 
Ballingarrj ,  Ballymagorr,  by  the  Banks  of 

Foyle, 
Ballylaneen,  Ballyporeen,  Bansha,  Ballyw- 

dare,  «  ,»    i  -^ 

Ballybrack,  Ballinalack,  Bama,  Ballyclare. 

•  All  the  names  are  genuine. 


83 


Irish  Mist  and  Smnshitu 


The  coiy  little  villageB  that  shelter  from  the 

mist, 
Where  the  great  West  Walls  by  uoean-spray 

are  kissed; 
The  happy  little  Tillages  that  onddle  in  the  sun 
When  blackberries  ripen  and  the  harrest  work 
is  done. 
Corrymeela,  Croaghnakeela,  Ologher,  Cahir 

ciyeen, 
Cappaharoe,  Carrigaloe,  Caahel   and  Ck)o- 

sheen, 
Oastlefinn  and  Garrigtohill,  Grnmlin,  Clara, 

Clane, 
Oarrigaholt,  Carrigaline,    CJoghjordan  and 
Coolrain. 

The  dreamy  little  villages,  where  by  the  fire  at 

night, 
Old  Shanachies  ^ith  ghostly  tale  the  boldest 

hearts  affright; 
The  crooning  of  the  wind-blast  is  the  wailing 

Banshee'a  cry, 
And  when  the  silver  hazels  stir  they  say  the 

fairies  sigh. 


Irish  Mist  Md  SanshJnt 

Kilfenora,  KUftnnane,  Kinnitj,  Ki"yl«*»^,, 
Kilmoganny,  Kiltomagb,  Kilronan  and  KU- 

Klllariiandra,    Kilmacow,    Killlney,    KiUa- 

fill  PC 

Killenaule,'  Killmyshall,  KiUorgUn  and  KU- 
leagh. 

Leave  the  little  villages,  o'er  the  black  leaB  go, 
Learn  the  itranger'i  welcome,  learn  the  exile  t 

woe 
Leave  the  Uttle  yillagea,  bnt  think  not  to  for- 

get 
Afar  they'll  rise  before  your  eyes  to  raxik  your 

bosoms  yet. 
Moneymore,  Moneygall,  Monivea  and  Moyne, 
MuUinahone,     Mullinavatt,     Mullagh     and 

Mooncoin, 
Bhanagolden,     Shanballymore,     StranorUr 

andSlane, 
Toberaheena,  Toomyvara,  Tempo  and  Bta- 

bane. 


85 


MICtOCOrY   RBOUinON  TBT  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


UA    131 


X6 


u 


■  2.2 

2.0 


ini 


1.25  iu 


1.8 
1.6 


^ 


'^IPPLIED  IN/HGE 


Inc 


1693  Eoit  Main  StrMt 

RoehMter,  Nt«  York       14609      USA 

(716)  482  -  0300  -  Phorw 

(716)  2BB-5»B9-Fox 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


On     the     Southern     Llanos, — north     where 

strange  light  gleams, 
Many  a  yearning  exile  sees  them  in  his  dreams 
Dying  voices  murmur  (passed  all  pain  and 

care) 
«Lo!  the  little  villages,  God  has  heard  our 
prayer." 
Lisdoonvarna,  Lissadil,  Lisdargan,  lisnas- 

kea, 
Portglenone,  Portarlington,  Portumna,  Port- 

magee, 
Clonegam  and  Olonegowan,  Gloondara  and 

Clonae, 
God  bless  the  little  villages  and  guard  them 
night  and  day! 


86 


R^' 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


THE  SWEET  BIVER  SUIR. 

".  .  .  .  The  gentle  Shtire  that  making  way 
By  sweet  Clonmell,  adorns  rich  Waterford." 
Spencer's  Faerie  Queen,  Book  IV,  Canto  XI. 

From  Devil's  Bit  to  Tuurles,  from  Golden  nnto 
Cahir, 
By  castle-crowned  Ardfinan  running  pure 
Past  Carrick  and  Kilsheelan,  ever  sparkling, 
ever  wheeling 
Flow  the  waters  of  the  sweet  river  Suir. 

The  Galtees  and  Sheveardagh  sen.l  their  trib- 
utes to  its  flood 
The  Anner  comes  from  storied  Sliav-na-mon 
The  sunshine  and  the  shadows  follow  fast 
across  the  meadows 
Till  the  dews  o'  the  morn  are  gone. 


87 


Irish  Mist  and  Sunshine 


'I 


By  rioh  flowery  fields  of  the  pleasant  golden 
Yale 
By  broken  Norman  tower  and  hamlet  white 
The  waters  of  the  Suir  saddest  bosom  would 
allure 
As  they  dance  in  the  sun's  mellow  light. 

The  winds  croon  and  sob  thro'  ruined  abbey 
walls 
Low  music  floats  from  every  fairy-mound 
And  weird,  haunting  rhymes  of  long-forgotten 
times 
In  the  flowing  of  the  Suir  resound. 

In  cool,  sheltered  glens  where  glossy  hazels 
nod 
The  wild  linnet  thrills  a  joyful  lay 
The  thrush  and  blackbird  singing,  sweetest 
melodies  are  flinging 
Thro'  briei  scented  groves  all  day. 


88 


Irbh  Mist  said  Sunshine 


Tis  there  now  I'd  be,  for  my  h^art  is  ever 
there, 
Where    Tippreary    and    Kilkenny    plains 
stretch  ont 
Where  the  rival  Gaels  are  daahini?,  and  the 
stalwart  hnrlers'  clashing 
Is  heard  above  the  throng's  great  shout. 

Ah  fair  is  Killarney,  where  the  smile  of  God  is 

seen 
But  when  this  life  is  ended  and  du  at  with  dust 
And  dear  to  me  thy  woodlands  Glenmalure 

is  blended 
Let  me  rest  by  the  sweet  river  Sair. 


7f 


i 


f 


LINOTYPE  AND  PRESS 
BY  NEWTON  JOURNAL 
NEWTON,  MASS.,  FOR 
Richard  O,  Badokk  A  Co 
BOSTON 


